"I don't deny, don't explain, don't argue," he retorted curtly. "I only say that I shall be willing to part with her services and turn her over to your own care, if you both so like. We know she has appealed to you for aid. My own errand, if you please, is near to its close. It has been—"
"Cut the cards, man!" cried the Missourian. It was lucky that he interrupted. He was just in time to prevent the other from making the mistake of saying what was the truth—that he was in any case about to leave the young lady to her own devices, and by her own request. The game which he most valued now was not on the table before him. He was playing it in his own mind. In short, duty or no duty, he was resolved to end the role of jailer and prisoner, for sake of the prisoner herself. Let others attempt the unpleasant task if they liked. Let others condemn if they liked. He, Carlisle, could be jailer no longer. Yet he deliberated well the risk he ran.
"It would be ruin to me if this were known, Senator Dunwody, and of that you are perfectly aware."'
"I know that as well as you, but there can be honor even in politics, war, or—love. I have given you my word. Deal!"
"You are impatient. You rejoice as a strong man to run a race, my dear sir."
"I do run a race. I am strong. Play! It is in the cards that
I must win."
"But if you should lose?"
"I shall not lose!"
His insistence, his confidence, almost caused the older man to laugh. "No, my friend," said he to himself, "you shall not lose!" But what he said aloud was, "You must not be excited, Dunwody. You may need all your nerve. I thought you cooler in times of stress."
"You don't know me. I don't know myself. Perhaps it is ice in your blood—I don't know,—it's fire in mine."